


my heart is a parachute that never opened in time

by spiekiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - everyone is famous, Angst, Attempted Murder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, actor!derek, actor!erica, lydia has no time for their nonsense, no one actually knows what boyd does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiekiel/pseuds/spiekiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This kid accosted me in Ralph's last night," Derek interrupts, brandishing the Forbes at her like she hasn't already seen it.  "This - this 'Stiles' kid."</p><p>Erica takes a stab at a large piece of pineapple.  "That 'Stiles' kid is the proud owner of a multi-billion-dollar startup," she says.</p><p>(In which Derek is an emotionally repressed actor, Stiles thinks he's come up with something better than Google, and for the most part everything that could possibly go wrong already has)</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart is a parachute that never opened in time

 

**we share what we've managed to steal**

 

Derek doesn't go out much these days, but when he does it's like this - hidden underneath a pair of aviators and a Dodgers cap and a grey hoodie in the 24-hour supermarket a block from his apartment, his shoulders hunched and his head ducked, pray-to-god there's not a tabloid with his face on it at the check-out. 

 

He's standing indecisively in the frozen aisle with his bright red socks and his Adidas slides, basket weighed down by low-fat milk, several boxes of granola bars, and an assortment of exotic fruits that distracted him while he was walking through the produce section, when - 

 

Someone shuffles up behind him, and he stops himself before he gives into the urge to elbow the person pointedly in the face."Hiding?" comes a voice. 

 

Derek continues to resolutely peruse the selection of frozen bison burgers, because it's 1 A.M. and there's no reason he should have to deal with this."No."

 

"Really? Because you're wearing sunglasses inside, so I figured, either he's hungover or he's hiding, and it's late enough that if you were hungover you'd probably be home sleeping like a normal person, not out grocery shopping - " 

 

"I'm not _hiding_ ," Derek says, voice clipping at the back of his throat, almost a growl.He just wants to get his food and go home, but then there's this kid - 

 

He _is_ a kid - Derek can see his reflection in the glass doors of the freezers in front of them - and he's thin, hands stuffed in the pockets of his cargo shorts, wearing a tee shirt that looks like it says _Google._ Derek can tell, at least, that he's not paparazzi, that he's not about to snap out a camera for some incriminating photos of _Derek Hale looking particularly unstylish in the local Ralph's_.  

 

"It's fine if you are hiding," the kid continues, and either he's damn stubborn or really terrible at reading body language."I mean, I'm hiding too, kind of - it probably wasn't a great idea to walk up and start talking to some random stranger, but I figured, if he's also hiding, no harm no foul, right?"

 

Derek turns to get a good look at him."You're not hiding," he declares, because the kid is practically bouncing up and down, like he can't stand still, nothing to hide his face or disguise his gangly limbs, his shirt declaring _Scroogled_ in bright lettering.  

 

"I am too hiding."

 

Derek turns back to the shelves of frozen meat that honestly don't have his undivided attention anymore."You're not doing a very good job of it." 

 

The kid shuffles around behind him, kicking his sneakers over the plastic tiling."I'm better than you, probably - less conspicuous, at least, what with your skulking and shiftiness with the indoor sunglasses and shit - "

 

"My method of _hiding_ was working just fine until you showed up," Derek snaps, but the kid doesn't even seem phased - instead, he perks up, smiling smugly.

 

"Ha," he exclaims triumphantly."So you are hiding.I totally knew it, dude."He backs off more, to lean back against the opposite row of freezers, and Derek feels his attention split between his food and the - arguably more interesting - person who's taken it upon himself to blabber at Derek this fine night."What is it, then - scary ex-girlfriend, or are you some kind of celebrity?"

 

Derek opens the freezer door to grab a box of Bubba burgers, which he seriously considers using to clock this idiot over the head."I'm an actor," he says at last, after he's weighed his options and decided that if he was going to be recognized, it would've happened already. 

 

"That's cool, man."  

 

Derek turns around to leave the aisle, and the kid's looking at him like he's trying to see past the sunglasses, which - the reason Derek bought such large sunglasses in the first place was so that people _couldn't_ see past them.He gives his best glare anyways, the kind that used to make people shrink back in their theater seats, back when he actually did movies.  

 

He walks away, and the kid calls after him, "Nice meeting you, too!"

 

Derek resists the urge to flip him off.

 

&

 

**life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes**

 

He meets Erica for brunch the next morning, because apparently they're the sort of people that do brunch now, and in fancy restaurants where you have to check all your electronics at the door, to assure privacy of customers.  

 

She's sitting at an excessively-sized table against the back wall, an impressive spread of fruits and breads already laid out in front of her.She's the only woman in the place not pinned up in a sundress and a flowy hairdo, instead wearing her characteristic dark jeans and too-tight tee shirt, hair pulled up in what might, under extreme circumstances, be classified as a bun.  

 

Derek grabs a roll before sitting down, for fear of trying to reach across the table and ending up knocking something over."Good morning," Erica says, without looking up from the magazine she's reading.

 

They'd met two years earlier, on one of the last movies Derek did - an overdone epic fantasy with more dramatic love scenes than impressive battle sequences, where Erica was making a breakout performance as the warrior princess opposite Derek's farmboy-turned-knight.There had been a lot of yelling at first, and eventually a fistfight in the trailer camp, after which they became fast friends.

 

"Morning," Derek replies.  

 

Erica appears briefly over the top of _Forbes_ to give him a quick once-over, one eyebrow raised."How have you been?"

 

"Fine," Derek answers distractedly - his eye has been caught by the front cover of _Forbes,_ which boasts a photo of the kid from last night, smiling that same smug smile, underneath the headline _Stiles Stilinski: L.A.'s Up-and-Coming Billionaire._

 

"Fine," Erica repeats flatly, not having noticed his distraction."How have you _really_ been, Derek? And don't lie to me - you know I can smell it when you're lying."

 

Derek stretches up over the table and snatches the magazine from her hands without answering, the corner of his henley in some sort of orange jam-looking stuff."You could've asked for me to hand you that," says Erica confrontationally as he sits back."I know I'm not one to lecture you on using your _words_ , but seriously - "

 

"This kid accosted me in Ralph's last night," Derek interrupts, brandishing the magazine at her like she hasn't already seen it."This - this _Stiles_ kid."

 

Erica takes a stab at a large piece of pineapple."That _Stiles kid_ is the proud owner of a multi-billion-dollar startup," she says, and bites off a large chunk of yellow fruit.  

 

Derek's busy flipping through the magazine to the appropriate pages to read the advertised cover article, but he says absently, "What's he doing hanging out in a supermarket at ungodly hours of the morning, then?"

 

"Probably the same thing _you_ were doing hanging out in a supermarket at ungodly hours of the morning," Erica replies whip-quick.A waiter in a pressed white uniform arrives and sets down a platter of omelets in front of them that no two people should ever be able to get through on their own.

 

"Yeah, hiding," Derek says, almost to himself.  

 

Erica tucks into an omelet and he sets the magazine down on the table to read it.Half of the title page is taken up by a big logo - _Stimple -_ and the emboldened words _a better search engine_.He scans the rest of the text, sees _Stilinski, 18, graduated Beacon Hills High School last spring_ , and a photo of him giving a presentation to a room of business types, wearing a suit that doesn't quite fit right.

 

"You didn't know who he was?" Erica asks from across the table.  

 

Derek looks up."Hm?"

 

"You didn't recognize him last night?"  

 

"No," Derek answers."I hadn't heard of him, really, not before just now."

 

Erica sets down her fork with much more clattering than seems appropriate for the atmosphere."You're living under a rock, Derek," she says flatly."I'm worried about you, and I almost never worry, okay - "

 

"What, just because I didn't recognize some kid?"

 

"No, not _just_ because you didn't recognize some _billionaire_ ," Erica snaps."You need to get out more.You need _sunlight_ , and human contact, and maybe a little alcohol - "

 

"I have plenty of alcohol at home - "

 

Erica shoves the plate of omelets at him rather forcefully."Eat," she says."I'm paying."

 

Derek forks one off onto his own plate, alongside the roll he hasn't touched and the little dish of jam-stuff he felt obligated to take after he'd gotten his laundry in it.Just as he's chewing the first oversized bite of egg and chese, Erica starts up again - 

 

"Boyd and I are going to a party tomorrow night.You're coming."

 

Derek swallows quickly."You waited until I couldn't argue with you," he accuses, jabbing his fork in her direction.

 

Erica smiles, leaning back in her seat."Guilty as charged," she says."I'm sure it didn't work, though - it never does."

 

&

 

**and I must pause till it come back to me**

 

He's not likely to go out twice in one day, so after brunch he gets in his Camaro and drives straight to Cedar-Sinai.  

 

Even under his not-a-celebrity disguise, the nurse on duty recognizes him almost instantly, smiling out from behind her #1 Mom mug."Good morning, Derek," she says as he approaches, moving slowly out of the elevator from the parking garage.  

 

"Hi, Melissa," he says, offering her a small smile, because however nasty the knot in his stomach is, she's been nothing but nice to him for as long as he's known her."How have you been?"He stops in front of the desk, pulls of his aviators to fold into the collar of his shirt, because he always needs a couple of minutes to compose himself - the walk past the nurse's station and down that hall never gets easier.  

 

"I've been good - really good," Melissa gushes, setting her mug down."Did I tell you - my son's getting married."She sounds so excited, so proud, and something settles in over the knot in Derek's stomach like a brick.

 

"That's great," he makes himself say."Really, congratulations."

 

Melissa has managed to work her smile down to something smaller, gentler, like she knows what he's feeling even though she can't, possibly."How are you, Derek?" she asks."I haven't seen you in here in a while."

 

"I came in during someone else's shift, last week," Derek says, pointedly not answering the first part of the question and hoping that she doesn't pick up on it.  

 

Melissa wraps her hands around her mug, thumb fiddling with the handle."It's good that you still come by so often," she says carefully."A lot of people get bored after a while, and end up only coming around holidays and birthdays, that sort of thing."

 

Derek swallows and makes himself take an imperceptible step towards the hall."I - " he starts, but his voice breaks off and he presses his lips together before anything else pushes its way out.  

 

Melissa smiles sadly at him, and he doesn't feel like she's patronizing him, which is new."I know you need to take care of her, Derek," she says."Just remember to take care of yourself, too, alright?"

 

Derek looks at his feet, looks back up into the hallway, and starts walking without answering, which he knows is rude, but he doesn't trust himself to speak, at least not without making promises he can't keep.  

 

His feet feel like lead, his sandals squeak on the tiles and sound too loud - he holds his breath like he's afraid he might wake someone, like he could possibly _wake_ anyone in here just by breathing, like he could wake them at all.It's quiet in the ward, and something in Derek's head reads _death_ on the place every time, because people aren't this quiet - with people, there's always noise, signs of life, laughter. 

 

He stops outside the seventh room in the hall.Reaches out to grab the door handle, then pauses, leans his forehead forward against the fake wood surface.He can hear the steady _blip-blip-blip_ of a heart monitor through the door, imagines he can already hear the soft, mechanical respiration - 

 

Derek takes a deep breath, and turns the handle, then pushes the door in.It's a nice, large room, courtesy of Derek's yearly donations the the hospital, lit softly by daylight through the closed blinds, accented with potted plants and paintings that Derek brought in himself, back when he was still optimistic.

 

He steps inside, closing the door behind him.He always feels like he needs to tip-toe in here, whisper everything, come and go without disturbing anything.He sits down gently in the chair next to the hospital bed, all the strength gone out of his spine the minute he takes weight off his legs.  

 

He takes the hand of the girl in the bed, careful to avoid jostling her IV line.Her fingers feel frail in his, her pulse steady but flighty under his thumb.He looks up at her face, and forces himself to smile slightly at her even though her eyes are closed, her own lips covered by a respirator.

 

"Hi, Cora," he says, quietly.

 

&

 

**eyes like an anthem no one stands up for**

 

"Trust me," says Erica, watching Derek impassively as he fidgets with the collar of his suit, "you're going to be glad I made you wear that."

 

Derek levels an unconvinced glare at her from across the glass-walled elevator, because he's fairly certain he hasn't had to wear something this ridiculously tight since his last red carpet endeavor - and because his hair is gelled, and the gel smells like pine needles.

 

Erica raises her eyebrows like _come at me, bro_ from her spot under Boyd's arm."The hostess is Lydia Martin," she says, like that should mean something to him."She's a fashion prodigy.Started her own business at fifteen, had international sales rivaling Nordstrom's two years later."

 

Derek looks exasperatedly at Boyd, who shrugs and doesn't look terribly put-out by his own outfit - skin-tight leather and a ridiculous shirt with one sleeve."I'm pretty sure she'd be personally offended if you showed up in jeans and a flannel," Erica finishes.

 

Derek's about to point out that he'd been perfectly happy in his apartment, not offending anybody with his sweatpants and tank top, when the elevator pulls to a stop, doors sliding open to admit a wash of club music that's probably only a tick under what Derek would classify as _disturbing the peace_.Erica leads Boyd out into the penthouse atrium, and Derek follows cautiously behind them, still tugging at the cuffs of his suitjacket like maybe if he pulls hard enough it will make it fit more like his regular shirts.  

 

The place is very upscale, underneath all the strobe lights and black lights and fancy drapery-things hanging at odd intervals from the ceiling.It's been a while since Derek's been to one of these parties, the everyone-who's-anyone parties with bouncers and open bars and curtained-off rooms.He doesn't remember the last time he was at one of these - they're not usually the sort of thing you _do_ remember, anyways.

 

They reach a high set of blue-tinted glass double doors where a large man gives them a once-over before nodding them through, evidently having recognized one of them.He holds open the door for them, and - 

 

Derek feels instantly stifled by the dark atmosphere, people on every side of him, the smell of pot and sex heavy in the air, and he never really liked these things anyways, all undulating bodies and conversation reduced to one-word shouts and wordless moans, and really - he'd rather just _not._  

 

Erica spins and gives him a smug, happy little wave as she and Boyd disappear into the crowd, dancing up on six-inch heels with her hair in a tight ponytail that whacks Boyd in the shoulder every time she takes a step."Have fun!" he thinks he hears, but anything she might have said is smothered as the DJ drops the bass.  

 

Derek cuts a beeline for the bar, staring straight ahead so as not to be stopped by anyone.He hasn't seen most of these people in years, and he has no desire to stop and reacquaint himself with any of them, despite the fact that he recognizes several faces as they flit by.

 

"Whiskey," he barks at the bartender, who apparently hears him, and procures a glass that has little blinking green lights in the bottom.  

 

Derek takes the drink and leans forward with his elbows on the bar, half-sitting on one of the stools.He can already feel a headache festering at the base of his skull, so he knocks back his two fingers of whiskey in one go, just like he always used to do, when Laura would punch him in the shoulder and tell him to go out and _have some fun, damnit_ , just like he always did, after - 

 

"Hey, mopey Ralph's guy," the voice is close enough to his ear that whoever's speaking doesn't have to raise their voice too much."Fancy seeing you here."

 

Derek turns on his stool, and there's Stiles Stilinski, L.A.'s up-and-coming billionaire, bent at an odd angle to put his own elbows on the bartop.He's ditched the tee shirt in favor of a see-through white sleeveless top with multiple rows of binary, numbers black enough that they look like they're written on his skin.

 

"So you _did_ recognize me," Derek says back, raising his own voice.  

 

Stiles smiles, and Derek has to stop himself before he thinks too much about how it's like the sun coming out from behind the hills, how this kid just transforms when he smiles - 

 

"Derek Hale, right?" he says."You were in _Teen Wolf_ , which was awesome, by the way," he barrels on before Derek can so much as argue with him, because _Teen Wolf_ was terrible, he got slammed for that movie, "and then _Resurrection of the Dead,_ which sucked and was really boring, no offense."

 

Derek laughs in spite of himself."I got an Oscar for _Resurrection of the Dead_ ," he says.  

 

"Well, you earned yourself a cult following with _Teen Wolf_ , and I think that's the more admirable accomplishment, personally."Stiles talks a mile a minute, like if he doesn't get it all out Derek's just going to stand up and walk away, which is ridiculous, since Stiles is probably the most interesting person Derek's met in a while - not that he's met that many people, lately."I mean, come on, a werewolf playing basketball? That's just gold."

 

Derek knocks back his second glass of whiskey without taking his eyes off Stiles' face, and says, "Apparently you've made quite a name for yourself as well, chatty Ralph's guy."

 

Stiles snorts."Chatty?" he repeats incredulously."I'm _chatty?_ Not, like, _alluring,_ or _scintillating - "_

 

"Pesky," Derek interrupts him before that gets out of hand.

 

Stiles scoffs, and puffs out his lean chest."I'll have you know, _sourwolf_ , that I have been described by a great number of people as positively charming, very fetching, if not downright delectable - "

 

"Right," says Derek sarcastically, struggling to avoid considering that last one.

 

Stiles puts on an affronted expression."I can pull out the quotes for you, I can totally pull out the quotes, man - "

 

"Your internet groupies _don't count,_ Stiles," Derek interjects.  

 

Stiles looks like he's about to jump to his groupies' defense, but then he stops, and his face splits in an enormous smile."So you _do_ know who I am," he declares."I knew you weren't too cool for _Stimple_ \- no one's too cool for _Stimple_."

 

"What's a _Stimple_?" Derek asks mock-ignorantly, like he didn't read that _Forbes_ article, didn't visit the website himself as soon as he'd gotten home that day.  

 

"Derek, if you know who I am, you know what _Stimple_ is," Stiles challenges, moving around to sit in the stool next to Derek's, instead of keeping up that uncomfortable-looking angle he's bent at.  

 

"Nope," Derek insists."No idea."He knows it's a search engine, supposedly better and faster than _Google_ and _Bing_ and all those others, that already _Stimple_ has become one of the biggest names in web technology, which Derek can hardly comprehend when he looks sideways and Stiles is so _young -_

 

"Fine," Stiles sighs dramatically, like it pains him greatly to have to say, "Let me explain it, then."He turns his gaze on Derek, and Derek suddenly feels like he's pinned in his own body, trapped in his own mind, but about to be liberated - because Stiles has this look in his eyes like he's seen the universe and it's _beautiful_." _Stimple_ ," he says, "is going to save the world."

 

He sounds totally and utterly convinced of that fact, and when he opens his mouth to speak again, Derek is poised to listen, but then - 

 

"Stiles, you idiot, you _have_ to come meet this guy before he leaves!" a girl with bouncy orange hair and a dress that looks more like an intricate weaving of colorful birds than anything appears at Stiles' side, her face flushed.

 

Stiles breaks off what he was about to say, smiling at her."Lydia," he says."Our gracious host.So nice of you to drop by and introduce yourself to my friend here."

 

She rolls her eyes."Sure, Stiles, like _I'm_ the rude one," she fires back, but turns to face Derek and holds out her hand for him to shake."Lydia Martin, pleasure to meet you."

 

Derek shakes her hand and hopes he doesn't squeeze too hard."Derek Hale," he replies."Impressive party," he adds, because it feels like the right thing to say.

 

Lydia gives him a short smile and straightens herself out."Thank you.I try.It's nice to recieve some recognition every once and a while."She shoots Stiles a pointed look, whichhe appears totally unruffled by.  

 

"Well," Derek continues, because he's buzzed enough that his manners are on autopilot - a useful skill that he developed early in his career, "I've been told you're very good at what you do."

 

Lydia really smiles, tossing her hair over one shoulder."I am," she says, unabashed."I'll tell you how I do it sometime, if you like.It's all math, really."

 

Stiles groans theatrically."You'll bore him to death, Lydia, _please_ \- "

 

"Like you won't put him to sleep with your computer talk, Stiles."She puts on a terrible pantomime of Stiles' voice, "' _Stimple'_ s going to save the world,' honestly.Anyways, you have to come meet this guy, he's interested in buying stock from both of us, and he wants to talk to you about investing..."

 

She pulls him up out of his seat, still going on about the potential business opportunity, and Stiles shoots a long-suffering expression in Derek's direction.He leans in by Derek again as Lydia pulls his arm in the opposite direction - 

 

"Be right back, _sourwolf_."

 

Derek watches him vanish into the crowd, then flags down a third whiskey.

 

&

 

**after the flood all the colors came out**

 

Derek dreams that he's running, faster than he's ever run in his life, fire licking at his heels and cameras flashing in the darkness, and he doesn't know which way is up but someone seizes him by the scruff of his neck and _pulls_ - 

 

He blinks awake to the sound of a phone ringing, loud and insistent on his bedside table.  

 

There's barely any light in through his drawn curtains, but his head pounds, and his mouth is dry, nose assaulted by the smell of that ill-advised peanut butter dragonfruit smoothie he'd spilled all over his couch yesterday morning.He rolls over in bed, buries his face in his pillow, and seriously considers letting the call go to voicemail, but - 

 

A moment later, he flops an arm out from under his sheets, grabs the phone."Hello?" he slurs groggily, and braces for Erica's loud voice.

 

Instead, he gets, "Stiles? Your voice sounds weird - "

 

"Not Stiles," Derek manages, even though he's not quite awake enough to fully process why someone is calling _him_ looking for Stiles.

 

"Why are you answering Stiles' phone, then?" the voice on the line asks."Did Stiles finally get laid?"

 

"I didn't think I _was_ answering Stiles' phone," Derek says, and pulls the phone away from his ear long enough to see that the phone he's holding is only similar to his, not quite the same but could've been easily mistaken if he'd been as drunk as he thinks he was the previous night."I must've grabbed it by accident."

 

"Well," says the voice, "when you get it back to him, do me a favor and tell him Allison called to talk to him about the wedding, okay?"  

 

Derek hoists himself up on his elbows and peers over at his bedside clock, which reads _11:09_ A.M."Sure thing," he says, and by the time he realizes that he might be able to ask this Allison person for an address to drop the phone off at, she's already hung up on him.

 

He looks down at the phone in his hands for a long moment, then drops it next to his leg, and flops back down on his mattress, thin sheen of sweat already cooling on his skin.He knows, somewhere in the back of his head, that he should be tired, bored of life like he's been for a while now and craving a prairie oyster and a triple-dose of Advil, but he's - 

 

He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute inside his chest like it's got places to be, things to do, people to see, and if he lets it it'll propel him out into the ocean, out into the rest of the world.  

 

Derek swings his feet over the side of his mattress and stands, stretching his arms over his head to feel his vertebrae click into place, then down to touch his toes and relax them back.He looks down, back at the phone sitting on his bed, and grins a little.

 

Five minutes has him out the door in board shorts and his Dodgers cap, no shirt because he only lives a few blocks from the beach, Stiles' phone number written on a post it note stuck to his fridge in green sharpie.

 

He runs without haste, the soles of his feet slapping away at the sidewalk through his Vivo barefoot sneakers, U2 blasting through his earbuds.He hasn't taken this route in a while, but he remembers it well - remembers the sidestreets that keep him away from the crowds, the stairs out behind that beachfront motel that will take him straight down to the sand so that he can run along the edge of the surf.

 

Derek used to love to run - used to run every morning, when he could, if he wasn't on set.Laura used to run with him sometimes, even after they'd buried their parents and three siblings, two cousins, an aunt.It was always therapeutic for him, like maybe if he ran far enough he could leave all his problems behind him, until Laura died, and then every time he ran he felt like something was chasing him, like it got closer the faster he went.

 

He feels different, now - almost like he's running towards something.

 

He runs for something like fifteen minutes, the burn creeping in in his calves, kicking up sand behind him.The theory is that the constant motion down the beach will keep people from recognizing him, but Derek knows from experience that it won't be more than a few more minutes before he has to duck off under a boardwalk or something.  

 

Faithful to tradition, it's barely a minute later when he hears a quick shout from behind him, "Derek Hale!"He turns instinctively, expecting to see a gaggle of teenage girls or some shit, but instead there's just an empty beach, contrary to the bright blue sky overhead.

 

Derek turns around to keep jogging, half-convinced that he's finally cracked, which might make sense with his suddenly-sort-of-jovial mood, but then there it is again, _"Derek!_ "  

 

He's positive he really heard it that time, so he stops and turns, pulling his earbuds out with one hand.He scans the beach, still not seeing anyone within hearing range, but then - hanging off of a second-floor balcony a little ways back down the beach, waving his hands wildly, looking like a spazz, who else but Stiles Stilinski.

 

Derek sighs, and takes off down the beach again, towards the big white modern thing that might be called a house that Stiles is in.The dry sand up closer to the houses sticks to his damp sneakers, so he pulls them off and carries them up the rest of the way by the tips of his fingers.

 

Stiles meets him on the back porch, bouncing from foot to foot restlessly.His hair's mussed up like he just got out of bed, and judging from the soft-looking pajama pants he's wearing, and the too-big _Blue Sun_ tee shirt he's got on, he might have done. 

 

He smiles as Derek approaches, standing by the edge of the pool, and Derek has a strong urge to push him into it, like maybe his old hard-earned partying spirit isn't completely gone."Hey, sourwolf," Stiles shouts as Derek approaches."Any chance you have my phone?"  

 

Derek digs it out of the cargo pocket of his board shorts and tosses it to him.Stiles nearly fumbles it into the pool, but manages to hold onto it in the end, thin fingers tapping at a few keys."Thanks."

 

"Not a problem," Derek hops up the final few steps onto the pool deck."Allison called this morning about the wedding."He scrapes the sand off his feet on the pumice tiles, trying not to think about how it's fast approaching seventy-five degrees, and Stiles still somehow smells warm and inviting this close."Also, she seems very concerned about the state of your sex life."

 

Stiles blushes bright pink, and Derek does _not_ want to see how far past the collar of his shirt it goes, really, he doesn't."Awesome," Stiles says, flailing the hand with the phone around a little."Fantastic.I'll be sure to thank her for that later."

 

Derek grins.Stiles laughs back, still slightly flushed."You, uh - " Stiles tries."You didn't look through it, or anything, did you? Just, it has a lot of sensitive information on it, _Stimple_ stuff, and I don't have a lock code on it even though my attorney says I should, and he would kill me if he found out you'd had it all night, so - "

 

"I didn't go through it," Derek assures him."I did write down your number, though."

 

Stiles raises his eyebrows.He looks flustered, like, "You _wrote_ _it_ _down?_ People still write stuff down, like, manually? Are the Dark Ages back and nobody told me, because my source of revenue might become a problem pretty quickly - "

 

"Very few people actually wrote during the Dark Ages, actually - "

 

Stiles' smile is wide enough it could probably burst Derek's heart, if he let it."Oh, geez," Stiles says, "you're a nerd, too.You're the total package."The urge to tackle him into the pool surges up again.

 

"I'm just saying," Derek says."The Dark Ages are called the Dark Ages because the majority of the population was illiterate, at least in the Western world - " Derek catches himself, then scratches the back of his neck, looking down at the water of the pool."Sorry.I have a lot of free time, lately."

 

Stiles shuffles his feet, his pajama pants so long that just his toes poke out."Yeah? You, uh, want to stay for breakfast, then?" He gestures behind him, to the open door to the house."Lydia makes a mean omelet, and I'm pretty sure your friends from last night are still passed out on the couch - Boyd and Erica, right?"

 

"Right," Derek says."I have to turn down that omelet, though."

 

Stiles' expression falters a little, but he patches with, "Gotta keep fit, keep jogging, I get it."He couldn't possibly, though - he doesn't look like the kind of person who jogs, and his eyes aren't weary enough to have seen the things Derek has.

 

"See you later, Stiles," he says.He pulls the Dodgers cap down so it covers his face somewhat and heads back off down the beach, still carrying his sneakers.

 

Hours later, when he's back at home, he gets a text, and he one-hundred and ten percent does not regret programming his number into Stiles' cell phone, because it says - 

 

_hey, party at jackson whittemore's tonite.be there or be square :)_

 

&

 

**the place where the wall meets the floor**

 

"You need a new apartment, man," Isaac says."This place is way too small."  

 

He's crammed into one of the smallish leather armchairs Derek bought at an antique shop a few months ago, which are basically the only half-decent pieces of furniture in the apartment, other than the mattress on the floor, which is top-notch, and the microwave, which just about covers all of Derek's priorities.

 

Derek raises an eyebrow at Isaac, who looks about as threatening as a puppy with that mop of curly hair."Are we criticizing my personal life choices, or are we running your lines?"

 

Isaac wrinkles his nose at him, and he's certainly got the twinkling eyes for the part - a role as some high school heartthrob on an MTV soap opera."I'm just saying, as your oldest friend - " Derek snorts - "I think you should live a little.Or, you know, a little _more_."

 

Derek glowers at the rug, which he should probably vacuum soon."I've been going out more," he defends himself."And I'm taking a class online, so - "

 

"That _so_ does not count, Derek, and you know it," Isaac interrupts."You don't even have to get out of bed for that."

 

Derek can't help replying, "There are a lot of valuable life experiences you don't have to get out of bed for.For instance, sex, which, I guess to be fair, you wouldn't know anything about."

 

Isaac glares at him, but there's no real anger behind it."Like you're getting laid, Derek.I've heard all about your sexual frustration from Erica.I know about Stiles."

 

If Derek were drinking something, he'd spit it out posthaste, because _wow_ , he hadn't realized that that tug he feels whenever he's around Stiles was recognizeable to anyone but him, he'd thought he had it tamped down pretty well in that box where he keeps his what-ifs and could-have-beens.  

 

He locks down his poker face, and says, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

He can tell by Isaac's face he's not buying it."Come on, man," Isaac whines."We're practically brothers. I tell you everything.Last month I even told you about Scott."

 

Isaac's smile goes a little crooked at Scott's name, and Derek feels the corners of his eyes crinkle involuntarily at the goofy look on his face."Sure," Derek says."That celebrity pet vet you're head over heels for."

 

Isaac sits forward, the armchair creaking in protest underneath him, script for the MTV pilot forgotten on the coffee table beside him.Derek resists the urge to shrink back into his couch-futon-thing, because this is _Isaac_ , who was there when Laura died, who organized the goddamn funderal when Derek couldn't get out of bed, but - 

 

"I get that you're freaked out, man, really I do," Isaac insists, voice quieter."You don't exactly have a good track record with loved ones and relationships and that kind of thing.But that doesn't mean you can't still get it right. There's someone out there who's got the capacity to make you happy, like _really_ happy, and if you think Stiles could be that person, then you've got to do something about it, right?"

 

Derek doesn't answer, because he doesn't think Stiles could be that person - he _knows_ that Stiles is that person, that there could never be anyone else, not when Derek's started stopping into those dump hipster graphic tee shops just to see if there's something Stiles would laugh at, not when they've been hungover together enough times that Derek has seen Stiles forget to grab a cup and just pour orange juice all over the counter.  

 

Instead of saying any of that, Derek looks up at Isaac and forces a shit-eating grin."Geez," he says."You were born to play a teen heartthrob, Isaac."

 

Isaac snorts."You make fun, but you haven't seen the number of zeros on my contract, Derek.Besides, it's not like it's going to sully my good reputation of daytime soaps and c-list romcoms."  

 

Derek laughs."Give yourself some credit.You're at least a b-lister."

 

"Gee, thanks," Isaac says.Then, after a pause, "You give yourself some credit too.You deserve to be happy, just as much as the next guy."

 

Derek doesn't answer for a long moment.Then he clears his throat, scoops up the script from the couch next to him, and picks up reading for Isaac's love interest _Alissabeth_ , with an _A_ and two _s_ s.

 

&

 

**moonlight making crosses on your body**

 

There's a slight breeze up on the roof of Cedar Sinai, cool against Derek's overheated forehead, ruffling the bowtie, untied and hanging over the side of the building.Distant music wafts up from the courtyard below, about as feeble as the light from the open doors to the hospital's annual benefactors' gala, and Derek breathes deeply in the night air, his lungs pressing out against everything his brain wants to run through.

 

It's peaceful way up here, no danger of being recognized, no danger of being talked to, where Derek can hear everyone coming from a mile away because the door to the roof creaks like nothing else he's ever heard, where he can sit with his back to the wall and look up at the same old stars that have always been up there, always will be.  

 

His suit jacket's in a pile on the ground next to him, and he knows Lydia would yell at him until the sun went down for treating one of her pieces like that - even if it is one of her simpler, less ridiculous pieces.He undoes the top few buttons his collar with one hand, still feeling stifled by - Kali on one side and Kira on another and Marin Morrell coming up behind him asking him how he's doing, _why haven't we seen you since the funeral?_ \- which, none of them were invited to the funeral, but it's LA and there were a thousand people there because it was the _Hale_ family - 

 

He probably should have checked out the guestlist before deciding that it would be a good plan to take his first public night back out in front of the cameras here.There was probably a more reasonable, less honest option out there somewhere, like that new nightclub Jackson's been going on and on about, or the gallery opening Allison handed them all invitations to last week, but here he is like an idiot, because he actually cares about the cause, because one half of his surviving family is on a heart monitor under a fake name three floors down.

 

Derek feels like he needs to stretch out of his skin, like maybe he's becoming restless in the moonlight-streetlight nighttime, slowly enough that he's not realizing it, and then all at once like a punch to the face that doesn't do anything to wake him up.

 

The squeaky hinges on the door to the roof scream bloody murder.Derek leans out on his elbow to see who it is, and feels himself relax muscles he doen't know he was tensing when he recognizes the line of Stiles' shoulders as he closes the door behind him.

 

Stiles walks over and drops down next to him, pulling his knees up in front of him."Hey, thanks for leaving me to the sharks, down there."But he's grinning softly like he gets it, at least a smidge, not quite meeting Derek's eyes.

 

"Sorry," Derek says quietly.  

 

Stiles doesn't reply, just bumps Derek's shoulder with his, and Derek feels a lot warmer, feels less like he needs to get in the Camaro and drive out off the wharf, all the way across the Pacific. 

 

"So," Stiles says, "my friend Danny is a DJ, right, he thinks he's the next Tiesto or something.He called the other day asking me if I could set him up with any gigs, and I said, sure, my friend Erica is having a birthday party - which, by the way - " he fixes Derek with an accusatory look, and Derek is only half-listening, half distracted by the little twitch at the left corner of Stiles' lips, the corner of his left eye - "she is planning on having at my house, which is ridiculous, because how much money does Erica make per movie?"

 

"How is that my fault?" Derek asks.

 

"You knew her first, so she's your responsibility," Stiles shoots back, like that's an actual rule that's written down somewhere."Anyway, we all know Danny from high school, so now you guys finally get to meet him.I think you'll like him - he's really good with computers, maybe even better than me - "

 

"I thought no one was better than you," Derek raises an eyebrow."That's a direct quote, actually - 'no one is better than me' - you said that like the first night we met - "

 

"Actually, if I remember correctly," Stiles interjects, "the first night we met, I almost succeeded in seducing you in a _Ralph's_ at ass-o'clock in the morning - "

 

"You _verbally accosted_ me," Derek corrects him.  

 

Stiles is fake-offended, smiling like he's holding back a laugh, and he could never be an actor, his face is too goddamn expressive, too open."I've never accosted anyone a day in my life," he claims."I'm a gentle soul, Derek, you know that, couldn't hurt a fly - "

 

"That's only because you can't _catch_ a fly," Derek says.It's dark, but Derek can see on Stiles' face that he's remembering the same thing Derek is - sitting around with chopsticks for the longest time until Derek came in with a flyswatter and ruined his fun.

 

Stiles meets his eyes, and laughs."It was better than you trying to play soccer, alright? You haven't got a leg to stand on here, sourwolf."  

 

"I have hand-eye coordination, not foot-eye coordination," Derek says.He'd been terrible at soccer as a kid, always lost to the combined team of Cora and Laura, who'd both been on school teams, who were ruthless to a fault and rubbed mud in his hair, ran away laughing when his mother marched him upstairs to clean off."I, uh.I - "

 

He breaks off, and Stiles looks at him, a crinkle in between his eyebrows like he's trying to figure out what's going on in Derek's screwed-up brain.Derek drops his gaze, looks back out at the night sky."I could've caught that fly," he says, finally.

 

After a moment, Stiles says, "I'll hold you to that."Derek feels his stare on the side of his head for a few more long moments, and then it's gone, and Stiles tries again - 

 

"I saw this movie the other day. _Pax._ It was about a drug - pax - that made people nonviolent, so they established world peace, but then decades later they find out that the drug has side effects, like it's robbing people of free will.There's this whole moral question, of whether peace is worth losing what makes us human.It was really interesting," he keeps talking, but Derek zones out a bit, the sound of Stiles' voice like a balm to his frayed nerves.

 

"Stiles," he says, a long while later, after Stiles has run through reviews of several movies, as well as offered his commentary on the ad campaigns for the upcoming midterm elections - _blasphemous!_ _outrageous!_ \- and given an assessment of the dresses worn to the Country Music Awards.

 

Stiles' words jumble to a halt.He closes his mouth and looks over at Derek, who himself can't seem to look away from the clustering of sunlight freckles on the back of Stiles' neck, or the smattering across the bridge of his nose.

 

"Stiles, I - " Derek clears his throat.

 

"Come on, you can say anything.It's a wonder they ever let you be an actor at all, Derek - "

 

"Stiles," Derek stops him, before he builds up any steam again."Thank you."

 

Stiles' expression is shocked, lips parted slightly, because Derek knows he never expected thanks, was never looking for it, but he's probably the best person Derek has ever met, and he's going to _save the world_ , hell if he's expected to save Derek too."I don't - " Stiles tries.

 

Derek seizes him by the scruff and kisses him before he can convince himself not to.Stiles is frozen for a fraction of a second before he melts into him, hands coming up on Derek's shoulders, falling in closer to him against the wall.He opens his mouth under Derek's, and all Derek wants is _proximity_ , he wraps an arm around Stiles' back as far as it will go, his fingers in Stiles' hair.

 

Stiles makes a small sound against his lips, and something uncoils low in Derek's stomach, something in his spine loosens as Stiles' hand cups the side of his face, his jaw, his ear.He can feel Stiles' eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, and a moan rumbles deep in his chest when Stiles bites his lower lip gently, then soothes it over with his tongue.  

 

Derek pulls away just long enough to say, wrecked, _"Stiles_."Then they're back, breathing the same cool night air, Stiles' fingers hot as brands as he slides a hand down the back of Derek's collar, and Derek was already his anyways, so what does it matter, really - 

 

Derek can span the entirety of the small of Stiles' back with one hand, and he drags Stiles down against him, not that he'll ever be able get him close enough anyhow.Stiles is a clumsy kisser, he lacks finesse, and Derek would never have guessed in a million years that this is where he'd want to be, here and no where else on earth, here with this crazy, brilliant kid, but he's never wanted anything more, not that he can remember.

 

He slides his hand under Stiles' suit jacket, scrunching his dress shirt in a fist, and Stiles murmurs against his lips, "You never have to say thank you, Derek - "

 

&

 

**how to understand your kind of drowning**

 

Derek calls his laywer Deaton from a street corner in Tokyo.He may or may not have taken a few wrong turns on the way getting back to his hotel, but he's not too concerned about that right now, just like he's not concerned at all by the fact that he's standing in the pouring rain, that his leather jacket is probably going to crack all up and down the back when he tries to take it off.

 

Deaton answers on the third or fourth ring."Hello?"

 

"It's Derek Hale," Derek says by way of introduction."I know who killed Laura."

 

"Derek?" Deaton asks."Where are you? Are you alright?"

 

Derek squints up at the bright city lights, megatron billboards smeared with rain but flashing on incessantly nonetheless.He blinks a few raindrops out of his eyes, and they run down his cheeks, down onto his neck."I'm in Tokyo," he says."I was visiting my uncle Peter, he does infomercials over here, the Japanese love him for those three episodes of _Airwolf_ he did."

 

Deaton's quiet for a moment, and Derek doesn't know what's louder - the rush of rain pounding on the sidewalk, or the rush of blood pounding through his ears."What happened?" Deaton asks at last."And what does it have to do with the call my office just got from the Tokyo police?"

 

The _walk_ light blinks on, and the crowd of people surrounding Derek push out onto the crosswalk, pressing in close to get past him, jostling his shoulders, and he's suddenly very glad that none of his films ever really took off in Japan.He stays standing firmly where he is, shoulders hunched, and his head ducked, phone sheltered slightly by his jacket collar.

 

"Peter tried to kill me," Derek says.It sounds ridiculous even to his own ears, even though less than an hour ago he was sitting on the back of some weird hybric ambulance wrapped in a shock blanket."I came to visit him at his goddamn commercial shoot, for the anniversary of the fire, and - "

 

He swallows off a pressure in the back of his throat that might turn into a sob, if he let it, but Deaton makes a sympathetic, not quite suprised sound."You assume he killed Laura as well."

 

Derek looks straight up at the night sky, and tries hard not to close his eyes against the rain that comes straight down on his face."He said he did.He said he was trying to take the Hale name for himself.Probably something about the family fortune."

 

There's the sound of papers shuffling over the line."I'll call over to your accountant," Deaton says."Make sure everything's still in order over there."

 

"Thanks," Derek says automatically.  

 

For a long moment, Derek thinks Deaton has hung up.He pulls the phone away from his ear to check the screen, and when he presses it back to his ear, Deaton's saying, "You need to stay in Tokyo, at least for now.We don't have any offices there, so if the police need a follow up they're going to have to deal with you directly.I want you to call into the department tomorrow morning and check on the status of Peter's interrogation, ask whether he's given an official statement.Chances are they won't be able to tell you anything, but let me know either way, alright?"

 

Derek's ears are ringing, and it doesn't have a whole lot to do with the tiny Japanese cars whizzing past.He doesn't answer right away, so Deaton says again, "Alright, Derek?"

 

Derek snaps back to present."Alright," he says."Bye."

 

He hangs up, and the next time the _walk_ light comes on, he crosses the crosswalk with the rest of the crowd, and falls into the flow of people moving downtown.He's passing by just about the tallest clothing store window that has ever existed when his phone starts buzzing like mad in his pocket.

 

He stops in the white light from the storefront and answers the phone, "Deaton?"

 

"No, what?" Isaac says."Why would I be Deaton?"

 

Derek takes a deep breath."Sorry, Isaac," he says."It's been a long night."

 

Isaac laughs, but it's bitter, flat, and Derek's pretty sure he's been drinking."Tell me about it, man," he slurs."Tonight was Scott's engagement party."  

 

Derek squeezes his eyes shut and tries to hold it all off, but the floodgates are just about worn down to the riverbed, and he can see Isaac's dopey puppy grin, the bounce in his step when he'd shown up at Derek's apartment saying, _I think I'm in love -_

 

"Shit, Isaac," he says.He hasn't really got anything to add, but Isaac's already hung up anyways, content simply to drop a bomb on Derek's psyche and peace out.

 

Derek doesn't know what to do but keep walking, so he does.

 

He feels lost, and he _is_ lost, not that he's already checked into his hotel, not that he even knows the address of it, because Peter booked it, just like Peter paid for his flight, paid for his cab to the commercial studio.Derek's never been to Tokyo before, he doesn't know his way around, he doesn't know the language, and he probably should have stayed in the police station until he was released and could get a ride from the airport instead of wandering the streets in the pouring rain.

 

The buildings are incredibly tall around him, taller than they are in LA, and he feels like he needs to get out, get into the countryside, but he's got a feeling he'd be just about as lost out there as in the city.He keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him as he walks, eyes half-closed and stare a million miles off, unfocused.

 

He's about to step over a puddle when he sees it - it's a blurry reflection, flashy colors, but he can still make out one word: _Stimple._  

 

He looks up for the first time in a while, and there's a megatron across the street, on the front of a high-rise glass-fronted building.It's crammed with a block of Japanese characters, which are Greek to Derek, and then under it, a thin line of English text: _Tuesday, January 14th; One night only; Stiles Stilinski; Stimple is going to save the world._  

 

Derek fumbles his phone out of his pocket, and it's ringing before he knows exactly who he's called.Lydia's the one who answers, sounding sleepy and ticked off, "What the hell, Derek."

 

Derek swallows."What hotel is Stiles in?"

 

" _What_?"

 

Derek bounces one leg, the toe of his shoe tapping in the edge of the puddle."Stiles is in Tokyo.What hotel is he staying at?"

 

"Why on earth do you need to know that right this second, Derek, this is ridiculous - "

 

"Please, Lydia," Derek says."I need - I need to see him."

 

"Are _you_ in Tokyo?"

 

"Lydia, please."He hates to sound so desperate, but -

 

Lydia sighs."He's at the Peninsula.Room 1209, last time I checked."

 

Derek deflates, his shoulders start to fold a little, and he has to resist the urge to take off running, because he still has no idea where he'd be running _to_."Thank you," he says, and it seems like he's doing a hell of a lot of that tonight, relying on other people.  

 

He punches the Peninsula into the maps app on his phone and starts walking.His mind checks out, his legs and lungs function on autopilot, and all there is are the blinking of headlights rushing past, the chatter of voices around him, the far-off simmer of the night's events in the back of his head.  

 

He comes back slowly, to the sound of dull elevator music.The button for the twelfth floor is lit up, and rainwater from his hair is dripping into his face, his shoes soaking into the elevator carpeting.His phone is clutched in his hand like a lifeline, and his whole body gives a start when the elevator doors _ping_ and slide open.

 

He staggers down the door to room 1209, and knocks on the door.For a very long minute, nobody answers, and Derek's stomach sinks, because what if he has the wrong room, what if Lydia was wrong, what if Stiles is already on a flight home, what if he has to walk back out on the streets, what if he has to go to sleep with this weight on his chest - 

 

Stiles yanks the door open.He looks drowsy, sort of surprised, and _warm_ , wearing a pair of boxers and a grey tee shirt, hair sticking up in every direction, and Derek loves him more than he's ever really loved anything in his life before now; he falls into him, and Stiles takes his weight with a small _oof_ , stumbling backwards into the room.

 

His hand goes into Derek's soaking hair, and Derek buries his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, breathing in the scent of him."Hey," Stiles says."You're in Japan.Coincidence."

 

Derek's arms go around him automatically, and he registers in his peripheral that Stiles kicks the door closed behind them, leaving them in darkness save for the light from the lamp on the bedside table.Stiles walks them back to sit down on the edge of the bed, his fingers soothing through Derek's hair, his breath steady and hot against the shell of Derek's ear, and Derek feels _safe_.  

 

"Peter killed Laura," he says into the fabric of Stiles' shirt, "and then he tried to kill me, and apparently Isaac is in love with a guy who's getting married."

 

"Geez," Stiles remarks."It sounds like you've had a very long night."He kisses the side of Derek's head, and Derek leans into it, follows it with a kiss to Stiles' mouth, his lips sleep-slack and breath a little muggy, but Derek honestly couldn't care less - 

 

Stiles makes a breathy sound against Derek's tongue, and Derek mumbles against him, "I need you."

 

Stiles pulls away and looks him in the eyes, and Derek never has to say _thank you_ , he never has to say _please_ , and Stiles says, "Yeah, seems like it."

 

He kisses Derek hard, easing them back to lay out on the bed, on the sheets that still carry some of Stiles' warmth, that are still hopelessly tangled underneath them.Derek ends up half on top of him, one arm pinned underneath him against the bed, raindrops dripping from his hair onto Stiles' forhead, one caugh in his eyelashes.He presses down against him, and his spine goes lax under the minstrations of Stiles' hand under his jacket, under his shirt, against his cool, damp skin.  

 

Derek moans low in his throat, at the press of Stiles' bare thigh between his legs, at slow rub of Stiles' tongue against his, at the heady gallop of Stiles' heartbeat against his chest, at Stiles' hand sliding under the waistband of his jeans, pulling their hips flush together.Derek grinds into him, and Stiles gasps against his mouth, and his fingers clench on the skin of Derek's ass, so Derek does it again - 

 

Stiles kicks at Derek's shoes, one hand pushing his jacket off his shoulders, "Off, now."  

 

Derek sits up on his knees long enough for Stiles to get his jacket all the way off, to start tugging at his shirt while Derek kicks his shoes off the end of the bed, thunking onto the floor.The whole front of Stiles' shirt is wet from where he's been pressed against Derek, his boxers bulging, and Derek can't get out of his jeans fast enough, because he looks like just about everything he's ever wanted - 

 

He falls back down against him, his mouth on Stiles' long neck, one hand up and under his shirt, fingers splayed in between his shoulder blades, the stress headache at the base of his skull disipating with every palpitation of Stiles' body against his bare chest."I hope you have - "

 

"Yeah," Stiles breathes.He fumbles on his bedside table without moving an inch away from Derek, and throws two travel packets down on the sheets next to them.

 

Stiles pulls his own shirt off and tosses it back against the pillows, and the skin-to-skin contact sends a shock through Derek's system; Stiles bites his lip, and Derek's hips buck involuntarily, drawing grunts from both of them.Their boxers come off, and then there's nothing between them, just Derek and Stiles and the rain still pounding against the hotel room window, the friction as Derek drags his mouth from Stiles' collar bone to his mouth, rolls his hips down - 

 

Stiles grabs one of the packets from beside them, tears it open, and squeezes lube out onto Derek's fingers.Derek looks up at him, at his face, and Stiles rolls his eyes, says, "Come on, sourwolf - "

 

Derek surges up to kiss him, up on one elbow so that he can slide a hand between them, slip a finger into Stiles, and - Stiles makes a soft sound against Derek's mouth, and sinks down onto his finger, his dick throbbing against Derek's.Derek pulls out, presses back in with a second finger, kissing across Stiles' face, his cheek, his jaw, his closed eyes, and he feels like his heart could burst out of his chest, like he still needs to be so much _closer_.  

 

"Okay," Stiles says.He opens his eyes, and they're a million different colors, they're galaxies deep, if Derek's not careful he could be lost in those eyes forever."Derek - "

 

Derek pulls his fingers out, sits back long enough to slide the condom on, and then goes back to kiss Stiles, sliding into him in one smooth motion.Stiles' hand is back in Derek's hair, his fingertips moving against Derek's scalp, legs wrapped around Derek's waist, and he kisses back hard, canting his hips up so that Derek slides in even further, as close as he can get - 

 

He moves slowly, and Stiles is tight around him, he's impossible, he's the only thing that matters, that will ever matter to Derek, he breathes Derek's name when he comes -  

 

&

 

**a prayer for which no words exist**

 

Derek hasn't been this close to Chris Argent since the trial.He supposes he should be grateful that it's just Chris - Chris, who always seemed to be the most reasonable Argent, for all that Derek could tell while he was operating in a greyscale of grief - and not the whole lot of them, which it very well could have been, given that it's Allison Argent's wedding.

 

Chris is way down the other end, sitting next to Lydia's date, Jackson, on the bride's side of the table; there are three seats - Stiles, Scott, Allison - some floral arrangements, and a bunch of elaborate place settings between them, and there's live music obscuring some of Chris' words, but Derek can still hear the gist of what he's saying to Jackson.

 

"...my sister Kate...criminally insane...appeals court...next week..."

 

Derek stands up quickly, pushing his chair back.Chris and Jackson look over at him at the sound, but he's not focused on them, he's already skirting the ballroom floor, on his way towards the doors at the back of the room.The four-tier cake rolls past him, and instead of a bride and groom on top it has a cluster of arrows sticking into a cartoon heart, because Allison is an Olympic archer, headed for Rio.  

 

He successfully dodges Marin Morell, who has eyes like a hawk, and pushes out the back doors, into a wide hallway.There are a few people lingering around with wineglasses and plastic scotch cups, but none of them so much as glance his way as he walks back towards the groom's dressing room.  

 

He hasn't thought about Kate Argent for so long that it might very well have been a new record.But now he can't help it, now there are thoughts blazing through his head, like - what if the appeals are granted, what if she gets out, what good does a restraining order do, it didn't do any good the last time, he _can't lose anyone else_ - 

 

Derek stops, supporting himself against the wall with one hand.This is a hell of a place to have a mental breakdown, he thinks - at a wedding, when he's lasted this fucking long.He gets his back against the wall and tries to breathe evenly

 

He hears Isaac's voice as if from a little ways down the hall, not in an existential way, but unintelligible; when he glances over, the door to the bride's dressing room is open, and he can see three people inside - Scott, Allison, and Isaac.They're standing close together, talking quietly, and Derek can see Allison smile slowly, nodding, can see Scott's face break out in a brilliant smile, can see Isaac bow his head, his curly hair falling into his face, shielding it.

 

Scott takes Isaac by the back of his head and kisses him, just a quick press of lips, and when they separate, Allison drops a kiss on Isaac's forehead, raised up on her toes even in her heels to reach.Isaac's shoulders shake, from laughter or crying or both, but Scott's grip is firm on his shoulder, and Allison rubs a hand up and down his back, soothing.

 

Derek looks away.He starts walking again, his mind fully made up now, to protect his family no matter what it costs him - even if it costs him those three, if it costs him Erica, drunk of her ass already back in the ballroom and hanging off Boyd, if it costs him waking up this morning with Stiles tucked under one arm, plastered to his side and snoring lightly.

 

Stiles is just coming out of the groom's dressing room when Derek reaches him.He turns, sees Derek and smiles."Hey, where've you been," he grabs Derek by the lapels and kisses him.Derek lets his eyes flutter shut, but he makes himself pull away after a few seconds, his hands on Stiles' thin waist to hold him just off of his body.  

 

Derek looks him straight in the eyes.Stiles' grin fades slightly, and maybe he can see something in Derek's gaze, maybe he can't.Derek leans toward him involuntarily, skims his forehead over Stiles' before he manages to right himself."Stiles," Derek says, "I love you."

 

Stiles smiles crookedly, and knocks his forehead against Derek's fondly."Me too - "

 

"Stiles," Derek says.He's afraid if he hears too much he won't do what he came out here to do, he could convince himself not to at the drop of a feather right now, with Stiles grinning happily at him."I can't do this."

 

Stiles looks like he's confused, and is also about to whack Derek upside the head."What?"

 

"I - " Derek swallows."I can't do this, Stiles, I love you too much."

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him flatly."Those two things don't normally go together, you know."He sounds vaguely amused, like he's not taking Derek at all seriously, which - he is _serious,_ he closes his eyes and sees Stiles' house burning, flames flickering out over the ocean.  

 

He steps back and looks earnestly at Stiles, like maybe he can make him understand that way."My entire family was killed," he says, "by a crazy stalker.And I just heard Chris Argent say that she's trying to get out of jail.What if she does? I can't - "

 

Stiles _does_ whack him upside the head - or, he shoves him, and Derek takes a half-step back."You can't live in fear the rest of your life, is what you can't do, Derek," he says, his voice raised.Quieter, he says, "I love you.If you love me, well, freaking out and bailing isn't the way to show it."

 

Derek's chest aches, and he should have thought this through more - thought of how it would feel to look at Stiles and know he was hurting him, to look at him and see clear what he probably should've known the whole time - that Stiles is just as willing to fight as he is."Stiles - " he chokes.

 

"No, shut up for a minute.I know you're scared, alright.But you can try to ditch us all you want - you can try to ditch me, but it's not going to stick.Plus, I'm pretty savvy with a baseball bat, Allison can shoot an apple off someone's head from ninety meters, and I hear Erica can really throw down with a stiletto, so if anyone with malicious intent gets within a hundred yards of any of us, they're toast."

 

Derek doesn't reply.He's not so sure he's got a foot left to stand on, and he's tired of running, and he's shaking, his hands unsteady."Okay," he croaks.

 

"Okay," Stiles says.  

 

&

 

**(and I want to fuck up that pattern)**

 

Derek makes Stiles put real hiding clothes on - he ixnays that _Scroogled_ tee shirt, and provides one of his darker henleys instead - and they go to visit Cora at Cedar Sinai.  

 

Somehow that long walk down the too-quiet hallway seems a lot less intimidating with Stiles next to him, managing to make a cacophany of noises even without speaking - tapping his fingers in his pocket, keys jingling, cursing under his breath when his cell phone goes off, since he forgot to put it on silent, which he should have done, even though it doesn't really matter - he's not going to wake anybody anyways.

 

"Hi, Cora," says Derek, once they're sitting by her bed, in the sunlit room."This is Stiles."  

 

Stiles waves a little, like he's not exactly sure what the protocol is for meeting a coma patient."Nice to meet you.From the pictures in Derek's apartment, you seem like a very nice person."

 

Derek laughs lightly."Stiles," he says, "this is Cora.She's the last family I've got left."

 

Stiles reaches over to grab Derek's hand, winding their fingers together on the arm of Derek's chair, and gives his hand a short squeeze."No, she's not, you idiot."  

 

Derek squeezes Stiles' hand back, and doesn't touch the _idiot_ with a ten foot pole."You're family, huh?" he says instead."Does that mean you're going to do the dishes every once and a while?"

 

Stiles looks at him disbelievingly."Like you do the dishes, sourwolf - "

 

"I do too do the dishes."

 

" _Please_ ," Stiles says."You're a mess.I bet you have a cleaning lady who comes in every couple of days, does the dishes, does the laundry, vacuums - "

 

"I also vacuum, actually," Derek interrupts."And having a cleaning lady would be stupid, my apartment is the size of a tractor trailer."

 

Stiles gives him a last suspicious look, and Derek knows he wants to argue, but instead he just opens up the book on his lap.

 

They read Cora a few chapters of the fourth _Harry Potter,_ switching off every once and a while.Stiles is ridiculous - he does all the voices, with some sound effects thrown in for bonus points, and decides that they should probably swap out one of the paintings on the walls with a poster of Cedric Diggory he has at home, because, direct quote, "Who _wouldn't_ want to wake up and see _that?_ "

 

There's a bundle of paparazzi waiting for them when they exit the intensive care unit, and Derek's more grateful than ever that he convinced the hospital to let him put a fake name on Cora's door, even if he couldn't get one on her medical records.  

 

Later, a photo surfaces online of Derek, looking murderous and flipping off the cameraman, Stiles tucked in close against his side, smiling into Derek's jaw.The caption reads something like: _Derek Hale, after seven years in hiding, is still just as much of a public menace and all-around grumpster._  

 

Stiles retweets it, alongside:

 

_Derek Hale to grace the silver screen once again in Davis' "Nowhere but Up"_

 

_Kate Argent proven criminally sane, faces death penalty_

 

_SCROOGLED AGAIN: why Stimple is the future of search engines - and the world_

 

_Allison Argent to represent the USA in women's archery at Rio 2016!_

 

and from Cosmo:

 

_Thirteen Amazing Swimming Pool Sex Positions (NEXT WEEK: A Complete Guide to Taking Your Best Butt Selfie Ever)_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please please please point out any mistakes :)
> 
> none of the section titles belong to me, nor does the title of the work


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